Live Together, Die Alone
by MyOtherPersonality
Summary: AU. The end of Apocalypse was the beginning of a new one. Mutants have been attacked, judged, and imprisoned- and the X-Men are nowhere to be found. But a new group of children have found each other, and together they must learn to survive, to train- and maybe, to escape. SYOC- closed, but cameo characters are always open.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, everyone! So, here's a newfangled SYOC- please read the prologue to learn what this is about. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

It started with identification.

After Apocalypse, after the momentary truce between the X-Men and the Brotherhood, a haze of contentment and stagnation had befallen the mutants. They had faced Hell itself and, thanks to Rogue and Leech, they had won. What could be more difficult than fighting death?

They still had the Brotherhood to bicker with- the truce between the groups had dissolved soon after the battle. However, Magneto had all but vanished from the Earth, and no word of the magnetic mutant reached any ears. In Xavier's opinion, this was his old friend's method of cooperating with the X-Men- simply staying out of their way. So the X-Men got careless; lazy.

And this was their big mistake.

One year after the battle (almost to the day), John Kelly was named the head of a new division of government: the Mutant Control Agency. "An outreach program to help integrate the genetically modified into society." At least, that's what the posters said.

* * *

**MCA Order #1: All mutants (hereby defined as those possessing the "mutant gene") must register themselves with the MCA. Upon registration, mutants will receive $1,500 to help establish themselves in society, and will receive an Identification Card that must be carried on their person at all times.**

Less than a day after the Order was announced, Erik Lensherr made himself known for the first time in eleven months. Xavier found Magneto in his office, furious and bending every paperclip and staple in the room into a tiny ball.

The two spoke through the night. Magneto returned to the same warning, the same admonition.

_"It begins with identification, Charles. It began that way for my parents, and now it begins that way for our species. Germany or America, it always begins with identification."_

Xavier agreed that it was a disturbing development, but was quick to point out that perhaps, the world had changed their view. The money each mutant received would help them get by during these times, when no one was willing to hire a genetically different individual.

Magneto was not convinced. He vanished in the wee hours of the morning, leaving twisted metal and foreboding thoughts behind.

But the X-Men endured. They registered with the MCA, and went on with their lives.

* * *

**MCA Order #2: All individuals with a MCA Identification Card are subject to be called for Interviews, to determine the magnitude and potential danger of their Powers. Failure to arrive at an Interview will be regarded as a Federal crime.**

* * *

**MCA Order #3: All mutants deemed Dangerous to Society will be removed from society and placed in a Rehabilitation Camp. They will have no contact with family, and will be held until their release is deemed safe to society.**

* * *

That was when the disappearances started. Every day, like a cruel form of jury duty, mutants were called into the MCA offices, summoned from their homes and work. Some returned, pale and shaky but smiling in relief.

Others weren't so lucky.

Like a lion, the MCA picked off the young and weak first. Jamie was the first from the Mansion to be called in, crying silently all the way there. He walked into the office and never came out. Ray was quick to follow, in front of Sam, Rahne, and Jubilee. The New Mutants were under attack.

The remainder of the new team (Amara, Bobby and Roberto) left the Mansion at the urging of Xavier, anxious for them to return home in some unfruitful hope that they would not be found.

Calls from their parents came within the week; all three were gone.

They were not alone; Lance called Kitty to inform her that Fred Dukes was gone. Vanished during a trip to the store, with all of their neighbors claiming the boy had never existed.

Terrified, the X-Men tore up their mutant registration cards, hunkered down, and prepared for war.

* * *

**MCA Order #4: Due to new knowledge that some mutants may have destroyed their Identification Cards and/or refused to register with the MCA, mandatory random Blood Tests will be administered at the workplace and at Checkpoints. If a person is found to be an Unregistered Mutant, they will immediately be sent to a MCA Rehabilitation Camp.**

* * *

**MCA Order #5: All Mutants must be sent to a Rehabilitation Camp, and must remain there until their release is deemed safe for society.**

* * *

**MCA Order #6: The terrorists known as the "X-Men" have proven to be dangerous to society; they are priority criminals and must be apprehended at all cost.**

* * *

Xavier was in his office when they came for him. They crashed through his window, shouting and raving under their masks. Guns were pointed at his head. He was pushed from his chair, lying helpless on the ground- reluctant to fight, but unable to do anything else. Glancing outside, he saw two people- one tall and dark, with white hair; the other large and blue- being shoved into a van.

Storm and Beast had been taken already.

Xavier only had time to send a psionic message to Jean before he was hit in the head with a gun butt.

_Jean- take the X-Men and run. Go to Canada; go somewhere they can't find you. Do not come looking for me. Do not hesitate. Tell Scott he must lead them now. You need to RUN._

And then, as the world went dark, Xavier heard an echo of a voice; a memory of mere months before.

_It always starts with identification._


	2. Chapter 2

They caught on quickly. It was hard not to.

There wasn't much of a choice- not with guards on one side and a wall on the other. The camp was a circle, encased by a cold metal wall that almost burned the skin. It had never been broken; as far as any of them knew, no one had ever tried. They wouldn't dare.

There were few rules, but the ones they knew they knew by heart. They were shouted at them every time they ate, every time they woke and went to sleep, and every time someone managed to break one.

_RULE 1: Don't talk back to the guards._

_RULE 2: Eat what you're given, when you're given it._

_RULE 3: Don't attempt to escape._

_RULE 4: Don't act out._

Four rules to govern a society. Was it any wonder they craved more structure? That they made their own, when one was given?

And so, more rules- unofficial rules- arose.

_RULE 5: Listen to your Home Boss._

Boys and girls, separated into their barracks, needed a leader. So the Home Bosses arose. One per bunk. Almost always eighteen year olds, but always with battle scars from fighting for their place. They watched the little ones and kept the bigger ones in check. They'd dry the tears of a ten year old and battle a sixteen year old for dominance. They managed the rations, both approved and illegal. They were the bosses. They'd been there the longest. They knew.

_RULE 6: Know the guards._

The guards became more than furniture. They were a source. The mutants learned which ones would kick you in the ribs, and which would trade rations for … well, whatever you could offer. Those with gifts sacrificed them, numbing pain or spiking chemicals in the brain for a change in diet. But those without gifts, the older ones, found other things to trade. Physical things. Things that curdled their blood when they thought of them later, but things they told themselves were worth the warm coat and the new shoes.

_RULE 7: Know each other._

The mutants regarded each other with a sort of cool detachment. A friend today could be shipped off tomorrow. They tried not to get attached, and most succeeded. But clans arose, smaller groups from the pack. Each distinct. Each powerful.

The Alphas were the most noticeable. Powerful mutants. Loyal for the right price, and dangerous. They wore their power suppressor chokers with a sadistic pride. Each new face fitted with a collar was brought in as family, and treated like a member of the pack. These were the troublemakers; the ones who the rest knew.

The other end of the spectrum held the Ghosts. Less of a pack, and more of a philosophy. Drifting around the edges of camp, spending their time inside the bunks or gathered in huddles, like magnetic fillings clinging to each other. Small children, and terrified adults. Don't make waves. Don't draw attention. Wait, they seemed to say. Wait for it to be over.

And then, most disgustingly, most treacherous- the Leeches. Polite. Fawning. Invited inside the guard's quarters during the day, cleaning and helping their captors in order to keep out of the cold. But at the end of the day, they were out with the rest. Out with the accusing eyes and whispered taunts that kept them together. They were the self-contained elite, and no one knew who they were loyal to.

The rest, not connected to anyone, made their own groups. Their own families. Whether it was an effort to stay alive, or just to have a warm body to huddle to during the winter, they didn't care.

No one wanted to be alone.

_RULE 8: Time is the enemy._

The days would crawl by, each day the same. Morning alarm. Food. Time. Afternoon alarm. Food. Time. Evening Alarm. Food. Time. Sundown.

Time. Time. Time.

Time was always the enemy, and there was almost no way to fill it. No internet. No television. No electricity, except the flickering lights of the mess hall that made you squint and hurt to look at.

So time became the greatest foe yet. And, as children always had, they found a way around it. They adapted.

Some started a "soccer" game. There were no teams; no real rules, either. They had one lopsided ball, and two lines scratched deep in the dirt, and that was where the similarities ended. One person would get the ball, and the rest of them would try to take it. No one kept score, no one took sides. Powers were forbidden; it was unspoken. The game went on all day, if only to give everyone a chance to feel a small sliver of pride when the lopsided ball bounced over a line.

Others turned to more distant pastimes. Those with such abilities opened a clinic. At least, that was what they called it. In reality, it was more of an opium den. A place to forget, in exchange for a price. A handful of dried fruit? We could make the pain go away. A piece of jerky? Three hours of raised dopamine. No one liked to look in there, for fear of what they'd see. A congregation of junkies; dazed and silent, with expanded pupils and gaping jaws. And standing over them, their drug lords, selling their mutations as a quick fix and a momentary smirk.

As for the rest, they found their own way. Books were smuggled in for favors to guards. Decks of cards were passed around, never quite having all 52. Time passed. Time slowed.

_RULE 9: Avoid The Box._

The guards were a constant force; a constant presence breathing down the neck and freezing children with an angry stare. Because in Camp 189, there was only one real punishment. But that's not to say there was only one result.

The Box.

It was spoken about in hushed tones, as scary as the boogeyman and as real as the air in their lungs. A beating? Standing near-naked in the snow, all night? Thirty licks of a whip on bare back? None compared to The Box.

So understated, a small white building with one strong, metal door. People went in pleading, screaming, begging to do better. But they came out the same way.

Broken. Silent. A hollow shell with fractured gazes, staring into nothingness. Not a mark on them, but unable to fix.

No one knew what happened in The Box; those who did speak upon leaving it merely mumbled, spouting gibberish. They were cared for as children, fed and spoken to in the tone one uses for a dying dog. The lucky ones, that is. Those with no allies merely faded away, often dying of starvation as they looked at food without blinking.

The Box ruined their minds. It was the one thing in they all feared.

It was what prompted Rule 10; the most important to them all. It was what caused older children to avert their eyes when a ten-year-old was shown to the Clinic for the first time, or resist spitting on the backs of the retreating Leeches.

It was what kept them sane.

_RULE 10: DON'T BE A HERO._

* * *

**BOYS:**

Ben, from reven228 (Ghost) _Quiet, melancholy and underwhelming, Ben's goal is to remain in the shadows, to hide himself, his face, and his terrible secret. He heads the Ghosts- what can be seen of them, anyway._

August Scott, from ranlou (Clinicians) _Somehow still optimistic, he just wants to help people. A little naïve? He doesn't think so. And with a secret strength, he's likely to change your mind._

Luke McKenzie, from TheGentlemanGhost (Alphas) _Cynical? Gruff? Cold-tempered? Sure. But as the leader of the Alphas, Luke is not willing to let his guard down for a moment._

Rebelde Vega, from Vulkodlak (Leeches) _Rebelde was brought up in government captivity, and he's learned what it takes to survive. He's suave, manipulative, and he's given up everything- everything his body has to offer, that is. His mind is a different story._

Aiden Blackwell, by Raimaru (Clinicians) _Charming and witty Aiden can sell anything- a moment of peace, or a chance to forget camp for a second. But when the Clinicians recruit him, he's going to have to learn to sell something else- his loyalty._

Elliot Kane, by sparrhawk (Alphas) _Deceptively disconnected, Eli has a lot going on in his head- a little too much for his own good. It's only a matter of focusing long enough to communicate it._

**GIRLS:**

Celine Henry, from LemonLemma (Clinicians) _Celine is in this to survive- as the leader of the Clinicians, she can give you exactly what you want. But not out of the goodness of her heart- and of course, there is the small manner of your fee…_

Tara Hakim, from Vulkodlak (Leeches) _Tara may be hiding under a veil of vivid insults and general insolence, but when pushed, that veil will probably end up punching you directly in the face. She's not a typical Leech, or mutant- that is, if she's even a mutant at all…_

Meredith Kutchner, by WritingGirl23 (Leeches) _She can look like anyone she pleases- and ensnare anyone she wants. The leader of the Leeches, it's best to think before opposing her- and to think even harder before joining her side._

Alice Jameson, by Raimaru (Ghost) _A small piece of kindness, hidden in a shell of distrust. She barely has any friends- yet, with a caring personality that could change._

Sasha Fitzmain, by reven228 (Ghost) _A sad, quiet young girl with no self-confidence- or any kind of confidence- to speak of. However, a caring hand may help her out of her shell._

* * *

**NOW: if you were NOT accepted, your OC can still appear. Send me a PM titled "Cameo- Character Name" with:**

One: A short physical description

Two: A short personality description

Three: Power description

Four: Which of the groups (Alphas, Ghosts, Leeches, Clinicians) would your OC occupy, if any?

Five: Are you alright with your character dying at some point?

**Thank you all so much, happy writing.**


	3. Chapter 3

The only sounds were a constant mechanical thrum, a squeak, and sniffling.

The thrum was easy to pinpoint; it came from the engine. A dark green semi-truck, skidding around each turn on the icy road. The driver was squinting and chewing on his third cigarette of the morning, cursing the early hour. Up before the sun rises to shepherd a group of freaks was not the day he wanted. As the truck rounded another bend, he spun the wheel violently to keep all four tires on the ground.

The wind had begun to rise on the mountain in the dark chill of the morning, and it hadn't yet decided to stop. Icy drafts slammed the mountain, compressing the early dew into a hard slick that made the pavement shine. The truck chassis creaked with each turn, and the driver fought for control. As he had so many times before, he cursed under his breath.

The squeak was subtler- it came from the movement of leather over metal. The second armed occupant of the truck stood near the doors to the semi-truck container, bracing himself on the side to avoid falling. A gun was clenched in his leather glove, and his gaze was focused on the ground. As though he didn't want to look in front of him.

The other passengers were spread across the floor of the truck, around fifteen children and teenagers, all with varying degrees of panic on their faces. They were hungry; they were cold, most wearing only what they had on their backs when they were taken. A few were weeping quietly, tears rolling down their faces. Most were silent, staring blankly up at the ceiling of the container. But the source of the sniffing was in the furthest corner away.

A young girl- the youngest of the group- was crying. But it wasn't the silent, restrained sobs of her older companions. This was the innocent gasps and hiccups of a child.

With no one to comfort her, the girl continued to sniffle. Huddled in a ball on the floor with dirty blonde hair strewn over her face, eyes squeezed shut in a red face, she wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. No one seemed willing to look at her; no one but the girl closest to her, who gazed at the child solidly under a fringe of dark hair.

Slowly, almost without any notice, she leaned towards the young girl and- after a moment's hesitation- drew a hand over her back. The little girl flinched violently, drawing away and butting into a nearby boy. The loud complaints that arose were silenced at the sound of a metallic click.

The guard had pulled back the hammer of his gun. "No talking."

Silence reigned again, dirty looks aimed at both the child and the older girl, who blushed heavily. A boy sitting next to her, long legs crossed casually and taking up most of the room on his side, grabbed her hand in support- and aimed a dry look at her.

"That was entirely stupid," he whispered. "Unless your _plan_ is to get shot. In that case, well done."

She glared back, but a low murmur made her turn her head. "Thank you," the little girl breathed to her, still sniffling.

The brunette managed to smile at her. "I'm Alice," she whispered back.

The girl raised her head, looking at the space six inches to the left of Alice's head. Foggy, white eyes shone out from behind ragged hair. "I'm Sasha."

Alice swallowed down a sob. Blind. The little girl was blind. "It's going to be alright," she managed to respond.

"Oh, sure- just _peachy_."

"_Aiden_," the brunette hissed, and the boy's sharp cheekbones rose with a dark grin. "We're going to be fine," Alice whispered again.

Sasha blinked. "Are you sure?"

Alice was glad she didn't have to answer.

"No talking," the guard said.

* * *

Eighty-seven pairs of hands gripped the fence, attempting to ignore the biting cold seeping through the metal and chapping their hands.

Eighty-seven noses wrinkled at the bitter air, whipping mercilessly through make-shift cloaks of thin blankets.

Eighty-seven children, from young to nearly adult, gathered at the edges of the camp. For once, all eyes were fixed on the same thing- the semi-truck barreling up to the gates. Still, groups huddled together, betraying their allegiances.

Furthest towards the gate, in the best vantage point to get a look at the new arrivals, a group of twenty or so were white-knuckled on the fence, nearly climbing over in anticipation. Their eyes were wide open, scanning each face as it was kicked, wide-eyed and terrified, onto the ground. Their calling card was clear: a thick metal choker surrounded each throat, a small red bulb in the center blinking in tandem with each other's.

In the very front, a tall boy stood, dark hair whipping in the wind. "Eyes open," he muttered over and over to his group- his pack. "Eyes open."

Further down, a larger group huddled like penguins. Their grip on the fence was softer; many of them stood too far away to reach it at all. They stood shorter than the others, many of them younger than their fellow prisoners. None of them made a noise- every now and then, a pair of hesitant eyes would flick behind them, searching for guidance.

A lone boy stood away from the fence, hands shoved into the pockets of a pair of cheap jeans. His blue eyes were fixed sharply on the truck, gleaming over a scarf tied tightly around his face. His posture was erect, ready to fight or run- whatever came first. He didn't speak to his followers. He never did.

The third group was different- they leaned casually on the fence, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Thicker clothes kept the chill out, and their cheeks were fatter than most. Their expressions were hungry, greedy, many of them with eager smiles. They were like a black hole- several twitchy gazes were drawn back to them, wishing for a high they couldn't get until tomorrow.

At the front, a boy rubbed his runny nose, brushing curly brown hair from his eyes. "Twelve," he said, eyes counting quickly. "Maybe fifteen?"

The girl next to him grinned predatorily, squeezing his shoulder with one hand. "Any criers?"

His eyes grew sad. "Tons."

Dark hair fluttered around her face, dancing in the wind. "Excellent."

And furthest away, nowhere near the fence, sat the smallest group of all. They cluttered together, skin cleaner and clothing newer than anyone else's. Their eyes were not focused on the truck, but on the guards around it. A boy and a girl leaned against each other's backs. Both were beautiful; both were warm and full.

"Anyone new?" The boy brushed at a smudge on his brightly colored shirt; the sign of his occupation. His face held a lazy smile.

The girl near him cocked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a gorgeous pout on her face. "No; only Hudson and Pacer."

He gave her a blank look.

"The one with the sideburns, and the one with the blue eyes."

Another blank look.

She sighed. "You told Pacer that his eyes remind you of a mountain lake."

He smiled smarmily. "Ah. Them."

* * *

Back at the truck, they began to march towards the large, solid gates. Some were in bare feet; some in sandals. They immediately hissed at the cold ground. As they marched, the driver clambered out behind them and stretched. The other guard led the pack, his hand still on the gun.

"You will proceed to the gate," he yelled over the wind. "You will provide your full name, and you will be placed in a holding area. You will be asked to demonstrate your powers, in order to see if you require additional restraint. Then you will proceed to the-"

"Excuse me," a sharp voice rang out. Everyone stopped, and turned to see a short, impish boy looking intently at the guard. His red hair stood out vibrantly against the grey of the ground. "What if we can't demonstrate our powers?"

The guard frowned. "What do you mean?"

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Well. What if our powers require some sort of outside stimuli? For example, a person who could… control fire with their mind would need fire. Or what if our powers would cause harm to someone in order to work? Like rupturing a person's heart with your mind."

The guard blinked at him. "Rupturing a person's heart. With your mind."

"Yes." The boy's eyes grew wide. "Do you have someone who can do that already?"

Another blink. "…No."

"Oh, good."

The guard seemed anxious to move on. "You will first _describe _your powers, after which-"

"What if we lie?" the boy asked quickly.

There was a low chuckle from the back of the group. The guard glared at them, and all was silent again. "Why in the hell would you lie?" he asked the boy.

"Well of course we would_ lie_," a new voice piped up. A girl stepped out of line, trying to hide a smirk on her scarred face. "We could walk up and tell you we can shoot kittens out of our armpits, and then when you had us demonstrate we'd just…"

"Explode your hearts with our minds," the boy finished helpfully.

"Exactly," the girl concluded. "And then it's just a matter of selling ourselves on the side of the highway until we can bum a lift to California. You're rather bad at your job, aren't you?"

This was the last straw. The guard stalked forward, and despite his small stature he seemed to loom over them all.

"Look around you. Our base is on the top of this mountain. There are no roads around for miles, apart from ours. Civilization is the next town over- around 500 miles. There is nowhere to go. If you manage to escape, you will be alone. We will alert every military base within the bordering states. They will find you. And we will catch you, and once you're back with us we will show you just how little hospitality we are required to show."

There was a dead silence. After a moment, they began to march again, one line echoing in their minds.

_There is nowhere to go._

* * *

**A/N: Everyone got an introduction in here; the next chapter will be up (hopefully) before next year. Hope I got the characters right; let me know if I didn't.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Just a warning: the language in here will definitely be Not Safe For Work. Those with weak constitutions be warned- most of these people have dirty, dirty mouths.**

* * *

"I can't see."

"Move over, you're on my foot."

"Stop pushing!"

"Enough," barked Luke, and his pack fell silent. A few irritable gazes were now fixed on him, but he had no time for them now. Let them challenge him for leadership later; he'd take them down in a second. He had command, and the ability to keep it was part of the territory. He had the scars to prove it.

The new mutants were shuffling closer and closer, and his eyes were fixed on them intently. A few were either still crying from the ride over, or had just started. A sign of weakness to others, but he knew not to judge. One of his pack members had sobbed for three hours straight upon arrival, but she was dead serious when she attempted to stretch a hole through the metal fence with her bare hands.

Luke scanned each face, drinking them in. A girl with canine ears, twitching them in irritation. A curly-haired redhead, staring at the ground. And towards the back, a short girl with a hood pulled over her eyes. Her gaze was narrow, staring daggers at the guard escorting them. As he watched, she spat on the ground.

A faint smirk cracked his face. She had spunk. He could use her in his pack. Now he only had to hope that when she walked through those gates, a collar was around her neck.

* * *

Tara wasn't a fan of being watched. Certainly not by strangers. _Definitely _not by muscle-bound jerkasses with ponytails and army jackets.

"Keep watching, cockface," she muttered to herself. "I'll rip those pretty blue eyes out of your head and serve them to you on a plate."

There was a small chuckle in front of her, as the group ground to a halt. A small ginger-headed boy turned slightly to look at her, a grin on his face. "A bit extreme," he said lightly. "Maybe just the stocks for a week, instead?"

She blinked at him. "The what?"

"The stocks," he continued seriously. "Back in the days of yore, single men weren't permitted to look at young ladies, lest they be accused-eth of lewd behavior. A common punishment was locking them in the stocks. Sort of a full-body handcuff." He looked at her expectantly.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I'm an autodidact."

"Is it contagious?"

The guard in front of them cleared his throat irritably, moving to stand in front of them. A clipboard was in his hand. "This is a list of names, alphabetically ordered. You will step forward when your name is called. Aiden Blackwell!"

There was a silence. The guards face darkened.

"AIDEN BLACKWELL!"

A boy stuck his head out of line. "Sorry- that's me. I wasn't listening."

"STEP FORWARD!"

The boy smiled brightly at him, taking a few steps forward, long arms folded expectantly.

"What is your power?"

Aiden cocked an eyebrow. "Give me your hand and I'll show you."

There was a silence. The guard cleared his throat. "Describe your powers-"

"I know, I know the drill," Aiden interrupted smoothly. "But it would take longer to describe it than it would to show you. I only need a lovely assistant." He held out a hand and gave a slight, debonair bow. A few girls inside the fence tittered.

The guard was floundering, but recovered quickly; his hand shot out, pointing at the line. "YOU! What's your name?"

A brunette girl stepped forward shakily, next to Aiden. "Alice. Jameson."

"Powers?"

"Oh, uh- I can… talk to animals."

The guard made a few notes on his clipboard. "Give him your hand."

The color drained from both of their faces. "No-" Aiden started to say, shaking his head.

"You wanted an assistant; you got one," the guard sneered.

There was a short pause. A hurried, whispered conversation between the two teens. And then, Aiden Blackwell disappeared.

* * *

There was a small explosion of noise behind the fence, most of it coming from the Alphas as they pawed to get a closer look. But Celine went the opposite direction, taking a few steps backwards. "Holy shit," she breathed, running a hand through her hair. August fell into his usual place, behind her left shoulder. His eyes were bright and wide.

"What's his plan?" he whispered to her, and she shrugged. "I mean, that's amazing and everything but… look at the guards."

True to form, the guards were throwing what could be described as a very, VERY angry tantrum. Voices were raised, and guns were being drawn. The new mutants glanced around, panicked and confused. But one voice soon rose above the chaos.

"_Wait."_

The brunette- _Alice,_ Celine reminded herself- was standing stock-straight, swaying slightly. Her eyes were unfocused, and her voice had taken on an odd, sleepy quality. The guards guns were soon pointed at her, but fear and panic were absent from her face. She gave an oddly familiar smirk.

"_Now, now boys- double homicide is a nasty way to start the day."_ There was a sudden silence, as the word "double" sank in.

"_Rest assured, I'm still here,"_ she continued in her sleepy voice. _"I'm just… a little closer to Alice than I was. She's fine; she's irritated with me, though."_

"So… possession?" The guard from before was squinting at them.

"_Not in so many words. More like bonding. I'm a terrible roommate, I'm afraid. I just occupy the space for a while, take some of the power. The only reason I'm working the controls right now is that Alice is letting me."_

The guard blinked. "Is it dangerous?"

"_Not at all. In fact…"_ The girl's smirk widened in a disturbingly _lecherous_ way. _"I'm told it's rather enjoyable."_

The guard nodded sharply. "Alright. Enough."

The girl shrugged, and next to her a shape materialized. Aiden managed to catch her as she struggled to stay upright, legs going wobbly. As the guards slowly lowered their guns, August looked at Celine out of the corner of his eye.

"You want him, don't you?"

Celine said nothing; she merely watched as Aiden brushed the hair out of the girl's eyes, supporting her with one arm.

August nodded slightly. "Yeah. You want him. Celine, I don't know if you can get him. He seems pretty… stubborn."

"That's why you're going," she said calmly. August jerked his head back in surprise. "Be yourself. Butter him up. Try to get him to see reason."

August nodded. "What if he won't join up?"

"Appeal to his weakness. Use it to convince him."

August shook his head. "I don't know… what if he doesn't have one?"

Celine's eyes narrowed, focused not on Aiden, but on the sleepy-looking girl in his arms.

"Everyone has a weakness."

* * *

"Meredith."

She attempted to ignore him, keeping an eye on the newbies. So boring this time around. A girl who could talk to plants; another with fox ears. Where were the fun mutants? Where were the challenges?

"Meredith."

A short ginger was currently talking everyone's ear off about his powers. Something about pressure and fighter jets and extreme temperatures…

"_Meredith."_

"Reb, go suck a fuck, I am trying to listen." She reveled for a moment in her own voice; she was going for a deeper, sultrier tone lately. It was a shame she had to wait until tonight to test it out…

"How exactly does one 'suck a fuck?'" Rebelde asked, a hint of mockery in his voice. He brushed a lock of wavy hair behind his ear, and not for the first time she wished he went for the opposite sex. Those cheekbones… she'd have to have some like it.

"I'm sure you could figure it out," she purred at him, parting he lips in what she knew was a perfect smile.

He smiled back, blindingly white. "You sound like a porn star, darling. What on Earth did you do to your voice?"

She pouted. "I liked it. And besides; how many porn stars have you met, anyway?"

"The guards have limited entertainment fodder; their movie nights are usually very entertaining."

Meredith could feel a few of her younger followers shifting uncomfortably, and wondered what it was like to be innocent.

The guards had evidently fixated on the word "flight," and the ginger was being fitted with a chunky collar. She smirked as a familiar pair of wide shoulders rolled uncomfortably up ahead. "Oh, Luke's not happy."

"Is he ever?" Rebelde stretched like a cat.

"Less so, now; he just got saddled with gingerbread, over there."

"Well, you know who he _wants_, don't you?" Rebelde smirked. "That one on the end."

Meredith raised an unimpressed eyebrow, as she looked the girl over. Chunky. A scar on the face. Short, choppy hair. A scowl. "Why? She looks like an angry fire hydrant."

"Green isn't an attractive color on you," Reb commented idly.

She whirled on him, narrowing a pair of perfectly-sculpted eyebrows into a scowl. "Are you saying I'm jealous?"

"I'm not saying anything. Oh look, that little one has bat wings. Gross…"

The angry fire hydrant was stepping forward now, and Meredith tried to listen. She felt a momentary spike of confusion as the girl- Tara, apparently, and what kind of name is that anyway?- crossed her arms, a look of panic on her face.

"Well?" a guard was saying. "Demonstrate or describe your powers."

Tara shifted back and forth on the balls of her feet. "I… can't."

The guards' hands were drifting towards their guns. "You will demonstrate or describe your powers, or-"

"I can't, you idiot! I don't know what it is!" Tara's face was bright red, either from anger or embarrassment. "I didn't even know I was a freaking mutant until you assholes told me! As far as I know, my power could be extremely efficient digestion! Do you understand, you human-shaped pile of lard? I. DON'T. KNOW."

There was a loud silence, as the guard stared at her. After a moment, he moved along the line. Tara seemed to be trying to disappear into her own hood.

Rebelde snorted loudly. "Poor little baby," he cooed. "No one will take her in."

Meredith raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know; Scarface and his little minions might adopt her."

Rebelde gave her a sideways look. "I have a thought…"

"Don't strain yourself."

"What if you took her?"

Meredith laughed, a sound like poisoned honey. "I'd sooner take bat-girl."

Rebelde shrugged, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Fine. But it might make you-know-who warm up to you…"

Meredith wrinkled her nose, turning away. She had no use for this girl; having her among the willowy, graceful members of Rebelde's clan would be laughable, and she was far too sullen to make beds and rub achy shoulders. However…

Her eyes flicked to Luke's shoulders, and she watched as they slumped with disappointment- his eyes fixed on Tara.

"Warm up, hm?" she asked over her shoulder.

Rebelde smiled widely. "I didn't say anything."


End file.
